


Say Something

by MarshmallowMcGonagall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dulceween2019, Ghosts, Grief, Halloween, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, SpookyScaryDulceWeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 04:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21247316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowMcGonagall/pseuds/MarshmallowMcGonagall
Summary: It’s Halloween and Remus is babysitting at Grimmauld Place. Desperate for a reprieve from his yearly agony, a storm brings someone to the door.





	Say Something

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to dulce_de_leche_go for their encouragement, and above all, their reassurance that ghosts are still spooky.

It had become a Halloween tradition for Remus to stay at Grimmauld Place. This year he was officially on babysitting duty. Harry and Ginny were at St Mungos with a feverish Lily. James and Albus were asleep. And Remus was sitting in the kitchen wanting to be drunk. Numb. Anything but responsible. McGonagall had been the one who told Harry about Remus’s Halloween tradition in the few days before the first Halloween without Voldemort. Remus was summarily invited to Grimmauld Place. And his private yearly torture began.

Sirius always waited for everyone else to go to bed before appearing. His ghostly form would drift through the door. Always the door. And Remus would be waiting for him. Sitting at the kitchen table. Jaw clenched. The joy at seeing Sirius had lasted seconds. Had happened only once. Remus couldn’t let the joy escape. The good memories, the happy memories, the Sirius memories had to stay safe. Let them out and they’d disappear. Sirius had disappeared. Each time Remus saw Sirius glide through the door, he saw Sirius fall back through the veil. The same clothes. The same scars. The same tattoos. The same curly hair that Remus dreamed about running his fingers through again night after night. 

Sirius stopped a few feet from Remus. Sirius wouldn’t say anything. He never had. All these years. Remus had shouted, begged, threatened, pleaded. Nothing.

“I’m forgetting your voice,” said Remus, watching the ghostly hand resting on the table. Those fingers. His fingers drawn towards them but there was only coldness. No Sirius. “I tried the Pensieve.” Remus promised himself each year that he would harden himself against the agony of this echo. Each year he could count the seconds on both hands before his voice started to crack. “It doesn’t work. My memories aren’t the same.” He forced himself to look at Sirius’s face. “I don’t know if it’s inevitable, if it’s my transformations, or that I’m forgetting.” Sirius was trying to smile, the way he used to as a teenager when covering up how bad his home life was. “I didn’t think I could ever forget you.”

Sirius pointed up at the ceiling. Remus smacked his hand on the table and Sirius flinched. Remus’s chest heaved with ragged breaths.

“You’ve ascended?” said Remus. “Is that it?” Remus stood up, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. “Are you trying to put me out of my misery?” He had to grab the chair before it fell. He hated that this was a relief. There were a handful of photos of Sirius, and nothing else. Harry had a couple, as did Remus. Their attempts to talk about Sirius never went far. It was still too much.

Sirius glided closer to Remus and pointed up at the ceiling again. The candlelight flickered and the fire spat sparks. Every year, pointing upwards. Remus had tried to get Sirius to show him a path. But Sirius would disappear the moment he went back through the kitchen door.

“I can’t do this,” said Remus, backing up against the counter. “I miss you too much.” Sirius nodded. Those eyes. The same and nothing alike. “Why won’t you talk?” Remus reached out and scolded himself when he met cold air. He put his head in his hands, then looked up again, he wouldn’t get this chance again until next year. “Please.” Remus dropped to his knees. "Say something." This wasn’t like years past when the torture only lasted as long as the Dreamless Sleep which Harry had taken to slipping in his drink. Remus had never told Harry about Sirius’s ghost. Halloween was already torture enough for Harry.

There were small footsteps coming down the stairs and Remus scrambled to stand up and wipe his face. He walked to the kitchen door. James was standing, bleary eyed, holding his blanket and stuffed dragon. 

“Noisy storm,” said James, arms outstretched for a hug. Remus scooped up James, who sighed and put his arms around Remus’s neck.

“Yes,” said Remus, sniffing. “Noisy storm.” He rubbed James’s back and James yawned. “Back to bed, young man.” James stretched, wriggled, and sank back into Remus’s arms, settling his head on Remus’s shoulder. “That’s my friend’s ghost!”

“What?” said Remus, his voice strangled and his hold on James tightening. 

“That’s my friend’s ghost,” said James, brighter this time. He took an arm from around Remus’s neck and pointed. Remus had to force himself to follow James’s gaze. Sirius. Sirius waving shyly at James who waved back. 

“How?” said Remus, choking on the word.

“He lives upstairs,” said James. Sirius had drifted closer and reached out to James before seeming to remember that he wouldn’t be able to touch him. Sirius’s smile. Remus ached. He missed that smile every day. 

“That - that’s not possible,” said Remus.

“Yes it is!” said James, bouncing in Remus’s arms. “He lives in the attic! Albus and I found him!”

It was all Remus needed. Clutching James to him, he started running through the house. James’s excited giggles echoed through the hallways. He loved proving the grown ups wrong. His Uncle George always slipped him extra Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes toys whenever he made mummy run around and use naughty words. Remus took the stairs two at a time, racing through the flights of stairs that felt never-ending in the old townhouse. Remus knew there was an attic in Grimmauld Place, but it was one of the handful of rooms which no one went near. 

The small door, with flaking varnish, on the top floor of the house stood closed in front of Remus. He held James closer and crouched down to turn the handle. The handle creaked and groaned and turned. The latch clicked. The hinges protested. The door opened a crack. He let go. He held James.

“He’s in there, Uncle Remus,” said James, bouncing excitedly again, all thoughts of sleep forgotten, “he’s in there.”

Remus nudged the door with his foot. His heart was pounding. He thought his legs might give out from under him at any point. He took out his wand and said, “Lumos.” The wandlight lit up James’s eager smile more than any of the candles had. Remus’s smile was nervous. “He’s in there?” James nodded.

Remus pushed the door further open and took tentative steps inside the attic. James pointed towards the furthest corner. There were stacks of framed paintings. A few smaller ones, but most were lifesize, most were covered in dust sheets. A few more steps and James squealed with delight, pointing towards the back of the room. Remus held out his wand. A painting leant against the wall, almost the height of the room. Remus swallowed and took a shaky breath. He swallowed again. Words failed him as the painted teenager with long black curls, dressed in formal robes, scrambled up from where he sat crossed legged at the bottom of the picture frame.

“I told you he was here,” said James. He remembered dad telling him to be gentle with Uncle Remus today, and James hugged Remus even tighter.

“Hello Moony,” said Sirius.


End file.
